


The Tower of Hanoi

by driftingstar



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Manipulation, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Games, Minor Character Death, Obsession
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-28 05:05:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13896879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/driftingstar/pseuds/driftingstar
Summary: “In the aftermath of defeat, there is hope.  PLAYMAKER is no more, but Fujiki Yusaku lives again.”Canon divergence where PLAYMAKER is defeated by Spectre. A tale of self-destructive love and absolution. Dark themes. Psychological horror.  RevoYu. RevSpectre.





	1. 001

 

The vine slams into his avatar's body hard enough that he can see code flashing across his eyes. The crackle of static fills his ears, blanketing his senses with white noise as he falls. Watching in slow motion as the red digits of his life decrement to zero. He thinks he might have screamed.

 

Nothing. Just like the blank walls in that cold, featureless room.

 

He lands hard, virtual body slamming mercilessly down on the bridge, but his senses are still numb. Overtaken by that place. By those memories. Instinctively, he curls up, bracing himself for the lash of electricity that doesn't come.

 

What does come is unbearably worse.

 

Footsteps. Echoing hollowly against the slowly disintegrating pavement. Hands clapping together in a mockery of applause.

 

“That was marvellous, PLAYMAKER! Simply marvellous. You have really shown me an amazing… _defeat_!”

 

Yusaku’s hands are shaking as he pushes himself up on his elbows. Although a Link VRAINS avatar didn't need to breathe, there is a crushing weight in his chest. Strangling his lungs and choking back his voice.

 

He had lost.

 

Despite his resolve, despite his promises. With all the weight on his shoulders, failure had never been an option.

 

Zaizen Akira. Blue Angel. Ghost Girl. So many others whose lives had depended on him. And now, he must carry their deaths with him to the grave.

 

The leer on Spectre’s face grows wider still, stretching gruesomely like someone had taken a razor and carved it across his cheeks. His shadow approaches, draping over Yusaku’s face even as he struggles to get back on his feet.  He can clearly see the shape of his death reflected in Spectre’s eyes.

 

“Well now, what are we to do with you?”

 

Yusaku’s vision becomes awash with static as his consciousness begins to fade.

 

_Kusanagi-san… I'm… so sorry..._

 

 

* * *

  


What awaits him is a deep, endless darkness, only broken up by faint flashes of awareness like the last sputtering sparks of a dying flame. Fragments of scattered thought teetering on the edge between sentience and nothingness.

 

It is almost like falling asleep, only infinitely more terrifying as oblivion gnaws at his mind like a black cloud of swarming ants. Eating away at everything that once made him who he was. He screams and screams but his voice is swallowed up by the void.

 

There is no concept of time in the darkness, nothing to mark its passage. But after what must have been an eternity, he is hit with a sudden weightlessness, followed by the terrifying sensation of falling. Hurtling through space as colours and indistinct voices rush up to meet him.

 

He comes to with a desperate gasp. Lungs in agony as they struggle to remember how to inflate, choking on the very air he is trying to breathe. He is bent double, kneeling on a featureless white floor, palms digging into its flat surface as the world teeters around him. The light pierces his eyes, sending stabbing pains through his head and he hurriedly squeezes them shut as his senses are all assaulted from all directions. It's all too much at once. The cold on his skin, the hot pulse of his heartbeat thrumming beneath his skin.

 

His memories are a scattered jumble, filled with darkness and terror and disorientation. Every time he tries to focus, his thoughts dance out of his grasp, eluding him.

 

Where is he? _Who_ is he?

 

It feels like an age has passed before his desperate gasping calms enough for him to push himself off the ground and force open his eyes.

 

He is in a room. White floors. Narrow white walls. Something about this place sparks a flash of recognition and claustrophobia claws at the insides of his chest and his senses are overtaken by phantom lashes of electricity biting into his skin. The words flashing across his eyes.

 

_You lose_ **_._ **

 

The memories come crashing back, along with every scar, every hurt he had ever lived through carving itself into his mind all at the same time. He cries out, clutching at this head and curling up into the ground like he wishes it will swallow him up whole so it would all just _stop_. Then, there are hands smoothing back his hair. Gentle and warm as they coax him from the floor and cradles him against a firm, steady chest. The touch both repulses him and fills him with yearning. To his overtaxed senses, the contact is agony yet he can't stop leaning into them, desperately seeking a comfort that he doesn't know if he deserves.

 

“How are you feeling?” The gentle timbre of the speaker’s voice washes over him. A whisper of familiarity, ghosting across his skin. He knows this voice. Hope rushes in, filling his chest with something other than fear and panic for the first time. He lifts his head, body still trembling with exhaustion. There could only be one person who would call out to him with such gentleness. The one who had been by his side the whole time, watching over him with warm, grey eyes.

 

“Kusanagi- _san_...?” The syllables form on his lips, as he finally draws the courage to open his eyes again.

 

But the eyes staring down at him are cold and featureless like that of a demon’s. He flings himself away with a shout, his instincts screaming at him to get away while the other man continues to watch him with that hollow gaze.

 

The stranger straightens up with slow, languid motions, but makes no move to pursue him. The curl in his lips gives away his amusement as he speaks. “You don't recognize me, do you? But I suppose that is to be expected. It did take me awhile to reassemble your data.”

 

“My… data?” The words leap out of his throat, sounding pitiful and confused even to his own ears.

 

“Really, I had expected you to be the one to face me. Having Gou Onizuka as my final opponent was far too anticlimactic.”

 

Gou Onizuka… something about that name sparks something in his memories. Something that he had to do. He gasps again, fingers digging into his scalp as more names and images flicker into his mind like a movie reel playing out of order.

 

He's PLAYMAKER.

 

Fujiki Yusaku.

 

He clings to this new knowledge with desperation, the only glue binding together the fractures in his fragile psyche.

 

Spectre, the Tower of Hanoi, and…

 

“ _Revolver_.”

 

His snarl is accompanied by a familiar rush of hatred but it feels muted and dulled next to the frantic beating of his heart. He’s in shock, Yusaku realizes, but the realization only worsens the leadened weight settling in his lungs.  

 

“Hoh?” Revolver has the nerve to smirk, raising a brow in interest. “So, you _do_ remember me. How fortunate that I haven’t wasted my time putting together an empty shell.”

 

“What are you playing at? Why did you bring me here?” he demands, forcing himself to his feet, unable to stand being on his knees in front of his enemy. But his limbs are slow to respond and he ends up having to brace himself against the wall.

 

“You must be mistaking something,” Revolver says, clearly drawing amusement from Yusaku’s pathetic struggles. He takes a step closer, arms spreading with a clear theatrical flair. “This is a fiction. A false world I created from your memories.”   

 

Yusaku realizes with a start what his scattered mind had been too slow to process. This could not have been the real world, not with Revolver standing before him with those hollow eyes. His trembling hands slowly curl into fists as his nemesis continues on.

 

“Beyond here, the Tower of Hanoi is still being completed. Unfortunately, you weren't in time to stop me. Soon, along with the Ignis the world within the network will finally be destroyed. Of course, including the two of us.”

 

His stomach lurching with hatred and self-loathing at the reminder of his failure. But above all, he doesn't _understand_.  He had already been defeated. What more could he want from a disappointing enemy? "Have you brought me here just to _gloat_?”

 

“You haven’t noticed yet, PLAYMAKER?” Revolver laughs softly, the tips of his earrings clinking as he shakes his head. “Or should I say… Fujiki Yusaku?”

 

His eyes drift downward in incomprehension as he grasps onto the right sleeve of his dark blue uniform jacket, fingers twisting harshly in the material. No gloves. The hair falling into his eyes is blue instead of red.

 

“How-?” he chokes out, staring wildly into those featureless eyes. _How did he know?_

 

“It is not my intention to gloat,” Revolver says softly. “This world was created _for_ you.” He takes a step forward and Yusaku presses himself closer to the wall. “My greatest regret.”

 

Yusaku flinches like he had been struck, but the palm against his face is gentle.

 

Revolver.

 

Revolver is _touching him_.

 

Their faces are mere inches apart, closer enough for him to count each pulse of his artificial heartbeats.  

 

“What are you talking about?” Yusaku’s breath hitches, the hysteria in his own voice clear even to him. “What kind of sick game is this?” Blue Angel’s coma. The Tower of Hanoi. Again and again, Revolver keeps toying with him, leading him on like a dog on a leash.

 

This time is no different, and yet… he can’t bring himself to move a muscle. Watching mesmerized as Revolver continues to speak. “For the last ten years, you've walked beneath the light… but you never truly escaped it, did you? The deep, endless darkness that swallowed up your heart.”

 

The words strike something inside him.  The scared and fragile part of him that makes him cry out in the night, hands reaching out desperately for a salvation that never comes.

 

He had been convinced he could do it. He and Kusanagi- _san_ had worked tirelessly over the last year. Pushing themselves to the edge of breaking to destroy the Knights of Hanoi. To claim justice for what had been done to them. To unfreeze the hands of his bound time. But he lost that right the moment he lost against Spectre.

 

“What are you talking about?” he whispers.  “What _regret_?”

 

Of course, Revolver doesn't give a straight answer, stepping back and suddenly Yusaku can _breathe_ again. Instead, he turns to the side to run his gloved fingers across the wall.

 

“We are standing in accelerated time,” he says, his voice still so hideously soft. “The speed with which the quantum processors can compute are far greater than human minds can comprehend. A lifetime can pass in here in a second.”

 

“I don’t… I don't understand.”

 

Revolver chuckles, a low rumbling that reverberates through Yusaku’s bones.

 

“Think of three reasons.”

 

Yusaku freezes, a horrible premonition flashing across his consciousness as he stares into those horrible, blank eyes.

 

“Three reasons to live...”

 

_No. It can't be. Not like this!_

 

“...three reasons to return home...”

 

Yusaku’s eyes are wild with denial as Revolver’s image flickers with static. The dark reds in his hair recede into soft tresses of white. The gold in his eyes bleeds into silver with a flutter of long, full lashes. Beneath the mask of a demon, Revolver is breathtakingly beautiful. But those soft, delicate features are twisted in barely concealed triumph as he utters the final words to shatter all of his convictions.

 

“...and three reasons to defeat your enemies.”

 

Yusaku’s legs give out beneath him, refusing to take his weight. Static fills his ears, blanketing his senses with a fog of white noise as his world crashes down on him once more.  His mind is curiously blank as he watches this white-haired stranger draw near with a smile on his face.

 

“My greatest regret, PLAYMAKER, no, _Fujiki Yusaku,_ is leaving you behind. This time, I will save you from the darkness.”

 

His pale eyes are disconcertingly warm as he kneels down in front of him and reaches out to stroke his hair. Yusaku doesn't - _can't_ \- stop him as those hands gently close over his vision.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  


“It's discouraging to think how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit.”

― Noël Coward, Blithe Spirit


	2. 002

****_Someone, please. Anyone._

 

 _Help me_.

 

He doesn't know how long he's been here. Alone in this small, narrow room with nothing but the echoes of his own screams to keep him company.

 

The VR headset lies discarded, several feet away from where it had fallen.  It's been two days since he had last picked it up. Two days since he had enough strength to move.

 

He needs to eat.  He needs to keep _winning_.

 

He needs to keep thinking of those three things the voice told him… three things…

 

_What were they again?_

 

His vision blurs, the walls and numerals becoming unfocused patches of colour. His body is cold, growing number by the second as black spots dance across his eyes, warping his vision alongside the silent tears rolling down his cheeks.

 

With the last of his strength, he reaches up towards a salvation that he knows will not come.

 

_Please._

 

“... help… me…”

 

His eyelids grow heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and pain and his small, outstretched hand falls to the ground. Oblivion surrounds him.

 

Until a voice rings out.

  


_“Hey, you. Wake up! Hey…!”_

  


It beckons him, a tiny pinprick of light that shone like a beacon in the thick depths of darkness that had enveloped him. Like a moth drawn to flame, he follows the call. Consciousness comes slowly this time, tricking in like molasses spilling from a jar as the darkness recedes.

 

He can hear the voice again, closer and clearer than it has ever been before. There is something else. Hands on his face, leaving little imprints of warmth that slowly spread through his cold-stiffened body.

 

_There's someone else here._

 

The realization jolts him into awareness. Yusaku gasps, willing his eyes open with a flutter of dark lashes and the vision before him steals his breath away.

 

A pair of luminous silver eyes peers down at him from a soft, cherubic face. Framed by strands of feathery white hair haloed by the light pouring in from behind them.

 

_An… angel?_

 

Those beautiful eyes widen and a warm, gentle laughter fills his ears like tinkling bells.  

 

“No,” the voice replies softly and Yusaku realizes he must have spoken aloud. “I'm not an angel. But I've come to take you home.”

 

 

* * *

  
  


Yusaku awakens with his head pillowed on his arms.

 

_A dream? No, a memory._

 

He sighs, a quiet huff of breath that stirs his bangs, his thoughts pleasantly blurred by the waning traces of slumber. Until a nasal voice grates on his ears.

 

“Fujiki! Hey, Fujiki! Classes are over. How long are you going to sleep for?”

 

Yusaku finally opens his eyes to an empty classroom, noting the rows of desks that had been vacated in a hurry. He must have slept deeply, to have missed the bell.

 

“Hey! Are you going to keep ignoring me?”

 

Not so empty after all. In one smooth movement, Yusaku stands, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

 

“It’s… Shima, right?” he acknowledges, if only so he would stop screaming in his ear. Without another word, he makes his descent down the steps.

 

“Hey, hey!” The shorter boy is forced to scramble to keep up with his longer strides. “Did you see what happened in Link VRAINS recently? Last night, the Knights of Hanoi raided another one of Sol Technology’s servers. The whole network is freaking out!”

 

Yusaku stifles a yawn. “The Knights of Hanoi?” he repeats, injecting only the bare minimum of interest into his tone and gets a horrified stare in return.

 

“You don't know who they are?” his classmates practically shrieks. “Are you living under a rock? The Knights of _Hanoi_! The renegade band of vigilante hackers that are making a mess in Link VRAINS? Fujiki? _Fujiki_! Don't walk away when people are talking to you! Hey!”

 

Yusaku’s shoulders loosen as his classmate's annoying voice grows indistinct, fading into the rush of background noise. It’s a simple matter to merge into the sparse crowd, letting the flow of foot traffic carry him out into the network of tall, uniform glass buildings that catch red and orange in the sunset. The rest of his walk back to his apartment is uneventful, if not a bit too long, the monotony of the silence broken up only by the dull hum of traffic.

  
  


“I'm home,” he calls out, his voice echoing in the empty space as he goes to put away his shoes. His socked feet tap a quiet rhythm against the hardwood floor as he heads for the kitchenette. A smile breaks across his face as he glimpses familiar head of white hair bent over the stove.

 

“Welcome home, Yusaku,” the older youth greets him warmly, if not slightly distracted, as he approaches. “I hope you haven't eaten yet.”

 

“You're cooking?” Yusaku asks before he can stop himself and he gets a raised brow in response.

 

“I hope that wasn't meant as an objection,” he says mildly and Yusaku has to duck his head to hide his smile.

 

“Then, is today a special occasion?” he asks. He can see curls of white steam rising gently from the rice cooker and the room is filled with a sweet, mouthwatering aroma.

 

This time, he gets a glare but the slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips belies his amusement. “If you’re quite done with expressing your lack of faith in my culinary ability, you might as well make yourself useful and set the table.”

 

Yusaku obediently makes for the cabinets.

 

Soon, they are seated across from each other at the small, wooden table, plates loaded with a generous helping of potatoes and carrots, marinated in a rich, golden-brown sauce that glistens appealingly over white steamed rice. With a quiet murmur of thanks, Yusaku carefully lifts a spoonful and blows on it gently. His eyes widen when the flavour hits his tongue.

 

“It’s good!”

 

“You don’t have to sound so surprised, Yusaku,” the other admonishes him gently, although his pale blue eyes are filled with humour. “Not even I can get curry wrong.”

 

A faint hint of pink dusts his cheeks but Yusaku diplomatically chooses not to answer as he thinks back to the last time his benefactor had decided to cook. They fall into a comfortable lull as they eat, the silence broken up only by the delicate clinks of silverware.  

 

“How was school?” the other asks, after a pause. He props his elbows onto the table and cups his cheeks in his palms. “Meet any cute girls I should be worried about?”

 

“ _Kogami_ - _san_ ,” he mumbles, half protestation and half overall embarrassment as the flush continues to spread, creeping down his neck and up to his ears.

 

“I'm only teasing, Yusaku.” Kogami- _san_ ’s lips curl gently into a small, private smile and Yusaku can't help the tiny shiver that runs down his spine at the way his name rolls off his tongue. “But really, it's been ten years and I'm still on last name basis?”

 

Yusaku shakes his head. It's an old argument, rehashed again and again but it's one of the few things makes his stubborn streak rear itself. “It's more respectful,” he says and leaves it at that.

 

Kogami- _san_ chuckles, a low, amused sound that seeps into his bones. “Alright, alright. I know when I'm defeated.” His eyes soften in a way that never fails to make Yusaku’s breath catch, pale lashes fluttering over sapphire eyes that shine like starlight.

 

“It’s been exactly ten years, hasn’t it?” he asks instead, averting his eyes when his brilliance becomes too overwhelming to look at. “Since… since that day.”

 

Exactly ten years since Sol Technology had buried the truth of the Lost Incident and with it, any chance its victims could have for returning to a normal life. Yusaku can still hear it whenever he closes his eyes, the sound of his own desperate screams as electricity crackles against his skin. The tears clinging to his lashes as he struggles for breath in an unending void of darkness. It’s been ten years since his dreams have been free of nightmares, since he could sleep through the night and not have to awaken in a panic, eyes wild with terror until Kogami- _san_ ’s warm hands and gentle whispers soothe him back to bed.

 

“...Yusaku?”

 

It is Kogami- _san_ ’s voice that calls him back to himself now and Yusaku’s head snaps back up, chagrined. “It’s nothing. Just remembering.” Understanding softens the older boy’s eyes and Yusaku’s heart beats faster when he reaches out to cover one of his hands in his.

 

“You’re safe now, Yusaku,” Kogami- _san_ says softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Sol Technology won’t lay a hand on you again. I only wish… I had gotten to you sooner.”

 

Yusaku nods, not trusting himself to speak for the moment. But words were never needed between them; the other had a gift for reading his silences like he could see into his soul. They sit there in a contemplative silence as Kogami- _san_ traces absent patterns on his skin. He can live with the memories. He can live with the knowledge that he will never lead a normal life, not with his aversion to touch (from anyone who isn’t Kogami- _san_ ) or the nightly terrors that plague his dreams.

 

He can live with all of it, so long as they can stay together like this.

 

Kogami- _san_ ’s smile is gentle as he leans across the table, flipping their hands around so he can lace their fingers together. “Yusaku…” he murmurs, gently tucking a stray lock of Yusaku’s hair behind his ear. “May I?”

 

Again, Yusaku answers him with another nod. The heat in his face grows with every inch the gap between their faces narrow. Their foreheads meet in the middle and Yusaku’s eyes fall shut of their own accord. Suddenly, he’s all too keenly aware of everything; the heat of their laced hands, the quiet sounds of their breaths intermingling.

 

The first kiss is soft and exploratory, a shy brush of lips that Yusaku can’t remember who initiates. Heat flares in his belly, pooling low as he presses closer, chasing after that lingering sweetness. Those warm hands slide up to cradle his face, gently easing the kiss into something much, much deeper.

 

A feverish haze overtakes his mind. The sound of his soft moans are swallowed up by Kogami- _san_ ’s hot, increasingly insistent kisses.  Everything is too hot, too wet but not _enough_. Again, Kogami- _san_ knows what he needs without him speaking, his deft hands moving from his face down to his collar. His tie slips free from its knot and slides to the ground with a soft thump. His jacket soon follows, leaving him pressed flush against the other’s chest, his body half-draped over the table with the dishes roughly shoved off to the side.

 

“Yusaku,” Kogami- _san_ whispers against the pale hollow of his throat and Yusaku shudders against him, fingers curling with reverence as they tangle in his beautiful, white tresses. “Call my name, Yusaku.”

 

The only sound that Yusaku can manage is a choked cry, let alone any kind of coherent speech as the other’s hot mouth closes over his pulse, sucking with bruising force. He struggles to focus, to wrangle his lips into forming the right syllables. “R… _Ryo_ -”

 

A sharp buzz echoes harshly through the room, making the pair of them freeze in their tracks.

Kogami- _san_ pulls himself away with a frustrated noise that Yusaku wants to echo. They must have painted quite a picture; flushed faces, mussed hair and Yusaku’s shirt buttons half undone.  “Sorry, Yusaku. Just a moment.”

 

Yusaku takes the time to catch his breath as the older boy turns in search of his phone. He leans back against his chair, half-heartedly trying to fix his collar,  only picking up snippets of their conversation.

 

“-from my father? I understand. Thank you, Vaira.” Kogami- _san_ ends the transmission with a click and a sigh. His beautiful blue eyes are filled with apology as he glances back over at him. “It looks like our dinner will have to be cut short.”

 

“A mission?” Yusaku asks, reluctantly willing away the pleasant haze that had settled over his mind. He also can’t help but admire the fading redness in the other’s cheeks, the wideness of his pupils and the tantalizing strip of skin peeking out above his neckline.

 

The other’s lips curl into a wry smile, obviously noticing his scrutiny but not commenting on it. He motions for him to stand, curling his fingers which Yusaku reaches out to take. “The timing couldn’t be more... unfortunate. But Vaira thinks we may have a viable lead. Sol Technology was running a server farm under a series of shell corporations. On the record, the facility has been decommissioned, but we detected traces of network activity.”

 

Yusaku’s eyes narrow. “You think it could be the Ignis.”

 

At the name, Kogami- _san_ ’s eyes flash with something too quick for Yusaku to pick up. “Perhaps,” he says quietly, his expression tightening.  “Will you join me tonight, Yusaku?”

 

“Of course,” Yusaku’s response is as automatic as breathing, determination sliding over his features. Kogami- _san_ ’s warmth lingers on his skin in an aching reminder as he stands.

 

Since the moment he had laid eyes on him all those years ago, Yusaku has decided, wherever this man goes, he will follow.

 

The duel bracelets strapped on their wrists begin to glow as their voices call out together.

 

“Into the VRAINS!”

 

Yusaku closes his eyes as he falls forward into the glowing sea of binary code and lets it transform him. His school uniform is stripped away by the currents, replaced with his avatar’s form-fitting white bodysuit and hooded robes.

 

As a final touch, his blue hair bleeds into red just as a silver half-mask settles over his face.

 

Green eyes snap open to darkness. The area he stands in now looks eerily unfinished, lit only by the light from the translucent screens and the flashes of green from the flickering streams of data subroutines running in the background.

 

A lone, imposing figure stands in the middle of it all, the long tails of his white coat billowing in an unseen wind and Yusaku’s breath catches as he turns, pinning him with those impenetrable gold eyes.

 

“Come,” he beckons, his voice deep and rich. “We have much work to do… PLAYMAKER.”

 

Yusaku moves without thinking, kneeling down before him with his head bowed as devotion shines from his eyes.

 

_“Yes, Revolver-sama."_

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Cherish those who seek the truth but beware of those who find it.”
> 
> ― Voltaire“

**Author's Note:**

> last chance to turn back before things get weird...


End file.
